


The Parting Glass

by LensMind



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Marco's not human, literally any other tags are like spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LensMind/pseuds/LensMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took his name from words etched into the planks at the back of the shrine: Marco. </p><p>Marco was used to not questioning his existence. He was used to a black-and-white life at that forgotten shrine. He was used to being alone.<br/>Then Jean appeared. And Marco's world exploded into colour and emotions he'd never experienced before. </p><p>All because of two simple words: "Hello again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello

**Author's Note:**

> **Note: This work belongs to me, please do not copy/dublicate.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I've been planning this fic for _months_ so you've no idea how excited I am to finally be getting it out there!  
>  Literally any tags I put are spoiler-y, so hopefully you can blindly trust me and dive into this fic. 
> 
> Named after the old folk song ‘The Parting Glass’ - so listen to that if you think it’ll give you some clues to the plot, or don’t bother if you think I’m just so supremely bad at naming things, I just pluck them from the most recently played song on my itunes ~~(it wouldn't be the first time I've done that)~~. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [dontenz](http://dontenz.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!  
> Hope you guys enjoy! (Short first chapter, sorry!)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [freckledbodty](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com)!

He took his name from words etched into the planks at the back of the shrine: Marco. 

There wasn’t a particular reason for it, nor any real use for it. He just felt like he should have something to refer to himself as, and as he was inspecting the shrine he’d woken up at, he stumbled across the little cluster of names. They were probably carved into the rotting wood by a group of children, maybe teenagers, but ‘Marco’ had seemed suitable enough for him. 

He was aware of the nearby town just along the woodland path, but he never felt an inclination to go there; he never felt an inclination to go anywhere. The shrine was small enough to begin with – nothing more than a shed if he were being honest – and it was old and forgotten. Nature had been trying to take back the shrine when Marco had woken up: the place full of wood rot, branches, vines and stalks from the undergrowth crept through the cracks of the building. He let it keep what parts it had already claimed, but took the rest for himself. It was quiet at the shrine, and the path to the town was so overgrown it was almost impassable, so he didn’t expect any visitors. 

It was a good place to let the days pass. 

The spring after he’d woken had been uneventful; the wood bloomed, grew, started to live out their days until the autumn winds came. Marco spent the spring sitting on the shrine’s step, staring out at the stream just a little way off, or dozing on the still somewhat sturdy floor inside. As summer approached, Marco began to feel grateful for the nature that had broken through the shrine; the gaps they made in the walls offered something of a breeze in the sticky heat. 

It was sometime towards the end of summer, when the worst of the heat waves had passed, and a comfortable chill was back in the wind once again, that was when Marco’s bland, black-and-white days finally saw their first speck of colour. 

_He_ was sitting outside when Marco woke up; leaning against one of the larger trees that stood right beside the stream. He wasn’t paying attention to the forgotten little shrine and its lone inhabitant, or perhaps he just didn’t see them, seeing as his eyes were trained on the comic book in his lap. His hair was strange, Marco quickly decided, looking at the two separate shades of his undercut; but somehow it suited him. He kept crossing and uncrossing his legs, like he couldn’t quite find a comfortable enough position on the ground. Marco decided it was because the guy was wearing shorts; the ground was particularly bumpy where he was sitting, so his legs would end up being scratched by the gravelly earth no matter where he put them.

Marco sat down on the shrine step, watching the stranger, wondering if he’d notice he was being watched. Time passed, only tracked by the sun as it wandered overhead. As it started to lower, and the plants around stopped desperately following the sun’s progress, the stranger eventually looked up at the sky – his reading disturbed by the dimming light. He gave an irritated tut, before slapping his comic closed and pushing himself to his feet. His body seemed a little numb after sitting for so long, and Marco watched as he shook his limbs out.

Stretching his back one last time, the stranger turned his head slightly, finally giving Marco a look at the profile of his face. Marco didn’t have much experience with human faces – no one had ever come to the shrine before now – so he couldn’t exactly compare the stranger’s appearance to anyone else, but Marco decided that the defined lines of his features were what he might call appealing. 

Then he fully turned. 

Marco felt his body freeze as the stranger turned and looked directly at him. He felt odd all of a sudden, but he couldn’t quite grasp why; there was a strange feeling inside his chest, like a tightness that he didn’t understand. The stranger stared at him, not a speck of readable emotion or thought passing over his features, and Marco could only sit perfectly still and let the small, light eyes bore into him. 

It could have been only a few seconds, or it could have been long, drawn-out minutes, before the stranger at last turned away again; his eyes fixating on the overgrown path ahead, and his legs taking him off in that direction. Marco watched him leave, the feeling in his chest still consuming his mind as the stranger slowly vanished into the woods and out of sight. 

The woods were quiet. No more footsteps, or shuffling, or paper pages fluttering in a breeze. It was just quiet. 

Marco felt his eyebrows narrowing as he looked down at the ground before him. Why hadn’t that man reacted to seeing him? Humans weren’t things Marco had ever been around, but even animals – rabbits, foxes, birds – even they reacted in shock or suspicion when they realised they were being watched. That man hadn’t even blinked when he’d seen Marco sitting there. 

Seen Marco…

Had he seen Marco?

Holding his hand out in front of him, Marco examined it, front and back; it wasn’t transparent or anything, it was as clear as the wooden step he was sitting on. There was nothing about his hand, or the rest of his body, that seemed like it might be invisible. 

Maybe he _was_ invisible? But, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Animals could see him – they reacted to his presence on a regular basis. Nature too responded to him. He couldn’t imagine that all these things could see him, but yet a human couldn’t. 

The thought hung over Marco, even as the sun set and he retreated into the sanctuary of the shrine. Sleep had always been something that came easily to him, but tonight Marco found his mind too busy replaying the day’s events over and over and over again. For a while, he was afraid he’d be trapped in that same loop forever…

Sleep did catch up to him, though, and when he next woke the light that was pouring through the cracks in the shrine were telling him he’d slept in quite late. Not that he had anything he ever had to wake up for, of course. 

The shrine door swung open with a tired groan, and the midday sun glared down. Today’s breeze was chilly: he could definitely feel the hint of autumn riding on it. Marco wasn’t looking forward to winter that much; the shrine, whilst his home, was hardly a place that kept the cold out.

It was only when he heard a low sigh that Marco realised he wasn’t alone. 

The stranger was back, leaning against the very same tree. This time though, there was no comic book in his lap, but a handheld games console. The console had been turned off, or maybe it had gone onto standby. Either way, the stranger wasn’t paying it any attention. Instead, the stranger’s head was tilted to one side, his face completely hidden from view. He wasn’t moving. Marco leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse at what the man was doing, but he wasn’t near enough. 

He should have just left it. He should have just turned back around and sat inside the shrine. He should have let everything with the stranger end there. 

But that was never going to happen. 

With tentative steps, Marco left the shrine and moved closer to the motionless stranger. He moved slowly; trying to avoid making noise, so as to keep his presence unknown. With every step that earned no response from the man, Marco took another step. Before he knew what he’d done, he was standing right beside the stranger; looking down at his thin t-shirt and the goose-bumps lining his arms. 

The stranger’s chest, upon closer inspection, was rising and falling ever so slightly, in long, smooth movements. His eyes that had pierced through Marco just the day before, were closed. Marco frowned; why had this man decided sleeping out here, with a cold wind, was a good idea? His eyes fell on a jacket that had been left crumpled by the man’s side. 

Well, Marco didn’t fancy a strange man freezing to death right outside his shrine.

Kneeling down, Marco picked up the jacket and gave it a few shakes to get off the dirt and little stones. Then, carefully, he laid it across the sleeping figure. He made sure the jacket hugged across the stranger’s shoulders, so it covered his arms – his legs were in long trousers today, so Marco wasn’t too concerned about leaving them uncovered. Deciding he’d done all he should, he moved back. 

The man was looking at him. 

Marco felt his whole body freeze, just as it had yesterday. The same tightness reappeared, and he felt unable to tear his eyes away from the man’s gaze. This time, there was no doubt in Marco’s mind: the stranger was _definitely_ looking at him. There was no way he couldn’t be. 

“Hello again.”

Marco tensed even more. It seemed weird to hear the man’s voice; it seemed thick, if a voice can sound thick. At least the words assured Marco that he had been seen yesterday; somehow he felt glad that he wasn’t invisible. 

The man still didn’t remove his gaze. Marco assumed he was waiting for a response, but honestly Marco didn’t know what to say. It suddenly hit him that he never actually had spoken before. There had never been a point; plants didn’t talk, and animals had their own languages that were past Marco’s understanding. He wondered whether it would be better to just stay silent and move away.

But… there was something about responding that felt… not tempting, but significant. 

So he opened his mouth. 

“Hello.”


	2. Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger has confusing expectations for Marco's conversational skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAAAATE
> 
> Super sorry for the late update! My holidays were so packed with work shifts that I was busier and sleepier than I normally am during term time!  
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! ^^
> 
> All bow down to the wonderful [Lily](http://a-norwegians-fitness-journey.tumblr.com/) who beta-ed for me. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [freckledbodty](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com)!

The wind sprinted forward in a sudden burst of energy. The leaves were rattled; shaking in a chorus of panicked shouts and cries as the wind’s long fingers snaked between them, groping their browning skin. Creatures scurried to shelter, darting between the foliage to hide deeper into the woods, and the sky was filled with birds leaping into the air all at once. As the wind slammed its body against the old shrine, it gave a loud, tiresome groan. 

Marco’s head snapped round, eyes widening at the sound. Inexplicably, he was filled with a notion of being watched. That there was something standing on the shrine steps staring at him. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before, and yet, even more bizarrely, it felt a little… familiar. 

Perhaps that was what caused Marco to feel fear for the first time since waking up. He didn’t like fear; it gripped his chest, tightening around his heart and lungs, and sent his mind into a frenzy. His eyes frantically searched the shrine, trying to spot what on earth could be watching him: A bird? Another animal? The plants? His eyes found nothing, but the fear still rose within him – now clogging his throat and turning his limbs to ice. He made to stand; needing nothing more than to hurry back into the shelter of the shrine and forget all this strange sensations, but as he was pushing off the ground, a hand gripped his wrist. 

The stranger’s skin was much too hot for someone who’d been asleep in the cold, and his eyes felt like they were piercing right into the deepest part of Marco’s body. He seemed unfazed by the wind’s abuse around him, as his grip tightened further around Marco’s wrist. 

The stranger licked his lips and opened his mouth, but repeated the process a few more times before he finally spoke. “Thank you for doing that.”

Marco watched the stranger carefully; tried to work out what he was thinking, and why he was wearing such a forceful expression – like he was desperately hoping for an answer that Marco simply didn’t know how to give. The wind still roared around them; pounding against tree trunks, kicking little stones and twigs around on the ground, beating against their bodies. The stranger didn’t seem to register it, and Marco was becoming so consumed in the stranger’s eyes that even he was starting to ignore the angry gusts. 

They stared at one another for a while, and eventually the stranger’s cheeks turned slightly pinker, and he gave a soft laugh. “What? Not going to reply to me this time?”

Oh? Marco wasn’t aware he had been expected to respond this time. 

Sitting back on his heels, he narrowed his eyebrows in thought, trying to work out what he was supposed to say back. He came up blank. 

“What am I meant to reply to, exactly?”

The wind calmed. The leaves were finally left in peace, and the animals had already escaped – leaving only a quiet world, filled with the soft creaking of the shrine as the wood settled. If Marco had been listening to it properly, he might have thought the creaking resembled laughter. 

The stranger cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Marco didn’t see what was so confusing about his statement, but he ended up expanding anyway. “You didn’t ask a question. You said thank you. There was nothing for me to reply to.”

The stranger blinked. His grip slackened around Marco’s wrist, but for some reason Marco felt no need to pull his hand away. He did, however, stare at the place that their skin was touching in interest; this man still felt so hot, though there were still goose-bumps lining his bare arms (the jacket had fallen off his shoulders and into his lap when he’d sat up to grab Marco). Marco wondered how someone showing signs of being cold could possibly be letting off this much heat. Or maybe Marco was simply freezing to the touch? That would explain why even a cold hand would feel hot to him. It’s not like he knew what his body temperature was like, so there were probably endless possibilities. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter that made him jump. 

Dropping his head into his free hand, the stranger laughed so loudly and so violently, that Marco felt the need to lean back a little in concern. 

“Wow… ok. Didn’t quite expect that,” the stranger giggled, peering up through his fingers at Marco. With a sigh, he dropped his hand, smiling broadly. “I’m Jean.”

They stared at one another again. 

Shaking his head, Jean pointed to Marco. “This is where you give your name.”

Marco raised his eyebrows, but went along with it anyway. “Marco.”

Letting his head fall back against the tree trunk, Jean kept his eyes fixed on Marco as he smiled. His shoulders lowered. “Hello Marco.”

“We’ve already said hello.”

Jean let out yet another sigh. “You need to work on your conversational skills, man.”

Marco knew he didn’t have conversational skills – that sort of came with the territory of never interacting with humans – so he wasn’t entirely sure why he needed to gain those skills just because of one man. Still unsure how to respond, Marco shifted slightly and lifted his hand up; he looked pointedly at Jean’s hand still circled around his wrist. It wasn’t particularly bothering him – he just felt that it was probably something he should bring up sooner or later. 

“Could you let go, please?”

The smile slipped off Jean’s face, but a split-second later he was laughing again as he let go, holding his hands up in some sort of surrender or apology. Even Marco, who was hardly the authority on human emotions and feelings, could tell it was a very forced laugh. 

“My bad, I forgot I was still holding onto you.”

Marco didn’t believe that very much, but he said “Ok” nevertheless. 

Letting his eyes drift back over to the quiet shrine, Marco tried to ignore the constant stare he could feel from Jean. He was starting to think he must be a very strange creature for Jean to be _this_ interested in him. Though, Marco had to wonder what it was about him that proved he wasn’t human. Was he super cold after all? Or translucent in some way? Was there something about his appearance that was extremely irregular for humans? There were a lot of questions swimming around his head; it wasn’t like he’d ever even looked at a reflection of himself before, never mind thought much about his origins. He woke up here, so he stayed here: that was all there was to it in his eyes. 

“What’s with these responses?” It was only a small mutter from Jean, but Marco turned to look at him in question anyway. Jean wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead he was staring at the ground like he was extremely confused about something. Marco didn’t understand: was he responding in a way that humans would deem ‘odd’? Maybe that was what gave him away. Though, Jean seemed strangely… disappointed? Like he’d been expecting something else of Marco. Marco decided he must be a terrible conversationalist by human standards. 

_‘BUT YOU WILL REMEMBER ME, REMEMBER ME FOR CENTURIES’_

Marco jumped slightly at the sudden blast of music coming from Jean’s coat pocket. Even Jean himself seemed surprised by the interruption, and ground his teeth together as he started rummaging through his pocket to pull out a phone. 

Shooting one last cautious glance to Marco, Jean pressed a button to silence the music, and raised the phone to his ear. 

“What?” he growled. 

Marco could hear a voice on the other side, but it was too muffled for him to make out anything it was saying. 

“That’s because I’m not at the apartment, asshat… It doesn’t matter where I am, Jaeger… Geez, give me a break, will you? I don’t need a fucking babysitter…”

Jean seemed to be growing more and more agitated at whoever he was talking to. Yet, Marco was more interested in the phone itself than the conversation passing across it… 

How did he know what that was?

He’d never seen a phone since he woke up – its not like plants and animals carry around mobiles in case they feel like ordering pizza, or something – yet here he sat, looking at Jean on the phone, _knowing_ it was a phone. 

“Christ Jaeger, I get it, alright?” Suddenly shouting into the phone, Jean pushed himself to his feet. He threw his jacket over his shoulder and glared out into the distance. Marco remained kneeling where he was, looking up at the sudden shift in emotions. “I’m fucking coming already.” 

Snapping the phone away from his ear, Jean pressed a button and shoved it into his trouser pockets. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, he looked back down to where Marco was kneeling. He turned slightly red and rubbed his neck. “Sorry… I need to go.”

“Ok,” Marco nodded and stood. He didn’t wait to say anything else, and started to wander back to the shrine. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow, though,” Jean called after him. Marco paused and turned. With a shy smile, Jean tilted his head to the side. “Will… you still be here?”

Blinking, Marco glanced between Jean and the old shrine. “I’m always here.”

Jean’s eyes widened slightly, and then his face fell into a tender smile. “Yeah… ok. See you soon, Marco.”

“Goodbye,” Marco gave a nod, and once again started walking to his shrine. He didn’t turn to wait or watch Jean leave, but he did listen to the crunching of leaves and twigs as he headed down the path to town. 

Stepping inside, Marco was hit by that sense of being watched again. He ignored it though, instead opting to sit in the far corner of the shrine; pulling his legs up to his chest and letting his mind wander over today’s rather stranger events. For the first time since he woke, he was starting to question his own existence; what he was, what he was here for, what he looked like… they were all things he’d thought about before, but never really cared enough to actually sit and contemplate them. 

And Jean… 

What was Jean, exactly?

He was a human, sure, but Marco couldn’t help but wonder why he was the only person to have ever approached the shrine. Jean was a puzzle to Marco; his words and actions often seemed off, and his eyes looked at Marco like he was constantly imagining what Marco was going to do or say a second before he did or said anything… 

Dropping his head onto his knee, Marco shut his eyes; these thoughts were getting extremely muddled and confused now. Everything was much simpler when all he did was sleep and sit.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but when he next opened his eyes he had slipped onto the floor, having apparently slept through the night. Marco sat up, stretched out the twinges in his limbs, and listened out for noises outside. 

_Splash. Splash._

If it was just one or two splashes, Marco might assume it was an animal bathing in the stream, but the noise kept repeating itself over and over. 

He stood, creeping quietly to the shrine door so his weight didn’t make the floorboards creak. As he peered out, he realised he must have just missed the sunrise, but not by much – the sky still held the pinkish tinge, and the air still carried the chill of a cloudless night. Standing at the same tree as the other days, just before the stream, was Jean. He was at least wearing a jacket today, Marco noted, and even had a red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His expression was tight, hard, and in one hand he held numerous pebbles as his other threw one after the other into the stream. 

_Splash._

It was strange: this timing. Marco had fallen asleep after Jean left, and woken up when he came back. It was almost like his body was functioning in response to Jean’s presence. 

Jean turned, like he had sensed that he was being watched and smiled at Marco. “Hey. You live in there or something?” He nodded to the shrine, and Marco placed his hand on the wood of the doorway. 

“You could say that.”

Jean’s eyebrows raised for a second, but then they lowered back into a smile. His palm opened and let the pebbles and stones he’d been holding tumble down onto the ground. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he wandered over to the shrine. He came to a stop just before the steps, and seemed to look at them uncertainly for a moment, before lifting his eyes back to Marco. “Hope you don’t mind that I keep coming here.”

Marco shrugged. “It’s not up to me who comes and goes.”

“But I don’t want to bother you, so if I get annoying, tell me.”

Honestly, Marco didn’t really know what constituted as ‘annoying’. He didn’t feel particularly bothered by Jean’s presence though; if anything, he found this human to be a rather interesting visitor – he was still getting used to the idea of a human coming to this part of the woods, and had to wonder just what had made Jean want to come here. Perhaps it was just for some peace and quiet, and maybe Marco’s presence had spoiled that plan; he suddenly felt very concerned. 

Jean was still staring at him, so Marco assumed this was one of those moments where he was expected to reply. He nodded and said “Ok”, which seemed a perfectly adequate response in his mind. However, Jean raised one unimpressed eyebrow, so Marco must have been wrong. He couldn’t work out how to expand his reply without just saying something like ‘I’ll do that’ or ‘Alright then’, which he assumed Jean wouldn’t be happy with. So, he did the next best thing he could think of: He started a new conversation. 

“What do I look like?”

Jean stared at him for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden question. This time, Marco copied Jean’s previous action of raising one eyebrow. The spark of amusement in Jean’s eyes said that he didn’t miss the quip. 

Tilting his head to the side as he slid his eyes up and down Marco’s body, Jean gave a hum of thought. “Kind.”

“Kind?” Marco frowned. He didn’t understand; wasn’t ‘kind’ a personality trait? How could someone _look_ kind?

“Yeah. You look like a kind person,” Jean smiled. This smile seemed softer than most of his others. “That’s sort of why I first talked to you.”

“Because I look kind?”

Jean nodded. “Yeah. You appeared right when I needed someone to talk to. Looking all kind and shit. So I talked to you.”

There was so much Jean said that just didn’t make sense in Marco’s mind. What did he mean by ‘need someone to talk to’? Did he just feel like making conversation? Or was there another meaning to that phrase that was lost on Marco? Humans were exhausting. In the end, he decided not to ask for an explanation. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Marco said. He paused for a moment to try to put his question into clearer words. “I mean… do I look… normal to you?”

He wasn’t sure if Jean knew he wasn’t human, but Marco thought it would be best to not outright state that he wasn’t in case Jean just thought he was a slightly odd human (even Marco knew there was no way he was passing as a ‘normal’ person… whatever that may be). 

Jean did indeed look slightly thrown for a second, but took a step back and looked Marco over once again. After a moment he met Marco’s gaze again with a serious expression on his face. “You look like I’d expect, yeah. Dark hair, good build, lots and lots of freckles.”

Marco nodded thoughtfully; so he _did_ look just a like a human. He lifted his hand and stared at it, pleased that he wasn’t see-through or something. It took him a moment to realise Jean was still looking at him curiously. 

“Why are you asking?” Jean asked. “Haven’t you seen yourself before?”

“Not really,” Marco sat down on the shrine steps, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve never really thought to look.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“No.”

Jean crouched so he could look up at Marco’s face once more. He seemed to be wearing a strangely… pitiful expression? Marco wasn’t aware what he’d said to bring that face to the surface. 

“So… what _do_ you know about yourself?” Jean asked. 

Marco thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure how long it took him to come up with an answer, because there wasn’t really anything he _did_ know about himself – other than what Jean had just told him. He would say he knew this shrine was his home, but honestly he _didn’t_ know that for sure; he spent his days here, but for all he knew, he was intruding. He could say he knew his name was Marco, but that was a name he’d stolen and claimed as his own. 

Eventually, he looked back at Jean, who was now sitting patiently cross-legged on the ground. 

“I know I’m not dead.”

For a second, Marco wondered if Jean had heard him, he hadn’t even blinked. Jean sat there, staring up at Marco with a completely unreadable face. Then, he took a breath. 

“How do you know that?” he asked, the smallest of smiles on his face. 

Marco said, “Because I don’t feel dead.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Jean, who smiled. 

“Well, you may not be dead, but your personality sort of is.”


	3. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Marco's 'normal' changed the moment Jean stepped into his life. He didn't mind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -awkward laugh- hi.... long time no see. 
> 
> So, I finished Uni and moved to Japan, which is why I've been so MIA in terms of writing, so first, I'm really sorry for that!
> 
> I decided instead of throwing out chapters whenever I had time to write them, I would finish writing the fic first, so I knew I definitely wouldn't disappoint and have nearly a year's wait again, because otherwise I just feel super crappy (I'm doing this with all my other fics to now, if any of you are waiting on them too). 
> 
> Thankfully, I've finished all but one chapter of this fic now, and so I will be posting weekly updates until it's completed! This I can promise, seeing as all the chapters are sitting there waiting to be posted. 
> 
> But yes, I'm super sorry, and hopefully you'll find the wait on this fic worth it! See you next week! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [freckledbodty](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com</a)

It was strange how quickly Marco’s concept of ‘normal’ changed; after only a week, spending his days alone in that quiet, little shrine no longer seemed standard, but instead he woke up every morning expecting to see Jean already sitting by the stream or on the ground in front of the steps of the shrine. Most days passed in simple, slow conversations about this or that – seemingly meaningless things, like the weather or the way the sun filtered through the leaves. They were silent a lot too: Marco never having anything to say, and Jean seeming to get lost in his thoughts a lot of the time. Though, Marco tried to avoid letting this happen, since these moments brought an extremely pained expression to Jean’s face. Sometimes Jean brought a book and read strange stories to Marco in his low, soothing voice. Marco liked those moments, sitting and watching as Jean’s lips moved, forming the words one after another. Maybe it was just Marco’s imagination, but the stories Jean read always seemed sad somehow. 

“Sad? Hm… I guess they might,” was all Jean said when Marco pointed it out, and the topic was dropped after that.

This had become Marco’s norm, and whilst he had to wonder how this change felt so easy, every time Jean sat with his shoulder pressed against Marco’s, he found himself unable to complain.

It was the eighth day that Jean had come, and the two of them sat side-by-side on the ground below the steps, watching the light fade and the shadows take over the ground as the sun set. Jean interrupted the comfortable silence with a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll be late tomorrow, but I promise I’ll still come.”

Marco looked at Jean, blinking curiously. “Why?”

The corner of Jean’s mouth curled upwards, like he was pleased with the question, and he reached over, taking a hold of Marco’s hand. As always, Jean’s skin was so hot it felt like burning. For whatever reason, Marco never minded it. 

“I have this thing to go to.”

Marco glanced down at their entwined hands, curious as to why Jean was squeezing him to tight. It was as if talking about this ‘thing’ was hard for him in some way. Whilst he was interested, Marco felt it was better not to ask and simply nodded. 

“When will you come?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be here by sunset,” Another squeeze. “Definitely.”

With that, their hands slipped apart and suddenly Marco’s palm felt cold. No, not just his palm, his whole body seemed to have grown chilled without Jean’s touch. Jean stood, brushed off his trousers and grabbed the book he’d been reading today. Raising his hand in a brief wave, he smiled and started back down the path. “Until tomorrow!”

Marco just nodded in goodbye, and watched until Jean vanished into the woods. He stayed staring at the path for a while, as if hoping Jean would return, despite the fact he’d never done so before. Eventually he resigned to turning in, feeling a strange heaviness in his chest. As he lay down on the old shrine floor, he tried to remember what he did before Jean started visiting. 

He couldn’t remember.

* * *

The next morning, Marco awoke groggy and confused to the sound of birds rushing through the trees and footsteps making the fallen autumn leaves crunch underfoot. 

He sat up. The light peeking through the cracks told him that it was still before noon – what was Jean doing here now? Had he got his dates wrong, or cancelled his plans?

Pushing himself up, Marco moved over to the door, slowly pushing it open. The low creak sounded as always, as if the shrine was complaining that he was still using it, and suddenly the footsteps halted like a rabbit or dear hearing danger in the distance. Marco froze too on reflex. He stared out the opening of the door, trying to work out who was there. He couldn’t see anything – the door confining his view to a simple slither of the outside world – but after a moment, the footsteps started once more. 

A figure, not Jean’s, came into view. Another boy, shorter and thinner than Jean was – younger, Marco thought. He looked around the little clearing for a moment, until he finally turned to face the shrine and Marco could see his face for real. The boy looked thin, grey, and his features heavy with a pain that Marco couldn’t quite understand. His dark hair seemed to have been left uncut for too long – the ends curling around his chin unevenly. Marco was sure the only reason the boy didn’t look as white as snow was the littering of freckles over his cheeks – feigning colour. For whatever reason, Marco felt a sudden pang of pity for this stranger. 

The boy seemed to be staring at the shrine, taking it in, but Marco didn’t think he could see him through the partially open doorway. The boy rubbed his arms, like he felt a sudden chill, and slowly moved closer, before stopping once more just a short distance from the steps – the very spot where he and Jean always sat. This time, the boy stood still for even longer, making no noise. Marco wasn’t sure how long he stood for, but the boy finally sighed after a while and took a hesitant step forward. He seemed to be overly careful as he moved up the steps of the shrine – the wood groaning pitifully under his weight. As he grew closer to the door, Marco stepped back: once, twice, three times until his back hit the far wall of the shrine. 

The boy pushed the door, and it swung open with a screech. Marco stared at the silhouette in the doorway, waiting for the confusion or surprise to kick in on the boy’s face. 

But nothing happened. 

The boy’s gaze swept the room, a sadness in his eyes. For a moment, he looked right at Marco, but he couldn’t see even a vague glimpse of recognition that someone was there. 

Marco felt the worry starting to rise up. He lifted his hand quickly to inspect it, as if he might discover it had now become transparent, but it looked the same as it did every other day. His eyes focused once more on the boy before him, who hadn’t crossed the threshold yet. 

Clenching his hand into a fist, the boy swung a fist out, pounding it against the wood. It felt like the whole building shook and creaked in complaint. 

The boy smiled. A smile that made the hairs on the back of Marco’s neck stand up. 

“Good riddance,” the boy muttered before turning and walking back down the wooden steps. 

Hesitantly, Marco followed, though the boy didn’t so much as glance back even when the shrine groaned underneath his movements. The boy kicked a pebble on the floor, and Marco stood on the top step watching him. He didn’t know why, but there was a tightness in his throat, like something was choking him… like he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t fully formed. For a while, the boy stood with his back to the shrine, but then he turned and started walking back down the path. He didn’t look back. 

It was an odd event, not one that Marco knew how to react to, and once the boy was completely out of sight, Marco sat on the front step and contemplated the strangeness of it all. It seemed his quiet days had definitely come to an end now. With nothing else to do today until Jean arrived, he remained where he was, letting his mind wander and replay the boy’s unexpected visit. 

Eventually, some time after noon, Marco heard footsteps moving through the foliage. A few more moments and Jean appeared in the little clearing, hands buried deep in his pockets and his expression much darker than usual, the pain deeper set into his expression. Marco remained still and silent as Jean approached, until the man looked up and gave Marco a sad sort of smile. 

“Hi.”

It was a simple, single word, but it managed to make Marco worry He gave a small nod of greeting in return, shuffling down from the step to sit on the ground – Jean refused to sit on the steps, claiming he’d get splinters or something. Taking the movement as an invitation, Jean sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders were pressed together. For a moment, Marco wondered if he should ask what was wrong, or if he’d enjoying this ‘thing’ today, but he had a feeling they were connected, and it was best not to bring either up. Instead, he just sat, hoping his presence alone might offer Jean some sort of comfort. 

After a while, Jean moved slightly. His head now resting on Marco’s shoulder. 

“You’re cold…” Jean whispered, making no effort to move away again. 

“Sorry,” was all Marco could think to say.

“No, don’t apologise… I don’t mind. I’m just glad you’re here. Thank you.”

“I’m not doing anything though.”

“You’re doing more than you know…”

With no more words needing to be sad, the two sat like that for some time, neither seeming to really want to pull away. Marco found Jean’s contact rather comforting – his warmth soothing and at some point Jean’s hand reached over to cover Marco’s own that rested on his knee. 

The sky had already darkened to a soft pink hue when Jean spoke again – Marco had assumed that his silence and slow, deep breathing had meant Jean was asleep. Apparently he was wrong. 

“Hey… are you happy?”

“Right now?”

“In general,” Jean sat up, eyes shining with an emotion Marco didn’t recognise. It looked like it hurt Jean to ask the question. “Does this sort of life really make you happy? Being here, alone, with only me visiting.”

Marco watched Jean for a moment, trying to gauge if he was really okay or not, but eventually he figured he needed to answer. 

“This is my life. I’m content with it.”

Jean frowned, obviously unsatisfied with that answer. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you were happy.”

Marco stared back at Jean for a moment longer before shrugging – their eyes still locked together. “I don’t really know what ‘happy’ feels like. Maybe I am?”

He hadn’t meant to make Jean look so pained; he’d just told the truth, but Jean took a shaky breath like Marco had just stabbed him in the chest. Marco couldn’t help it though: he’d felt many new things since Jean had started appearing, but he didn’t actually know what any of them were, he simply guessed. He hadn’t thought any of them were ‘happy’, but maybe he was wrong.

Jean squeezed the hand he was still holding, dropping his gaze. “You should…. You should know what it’s like to be happy…” Jean pulled away, dropping his head into his hands. “Everything’s so screwed up… I keep screwing this up.”

Marco didn’t quite understand what Jean meant or what he was talking about, but he could barely imagine Jean ever doing anything wrong. He wanted to comfort him, more than anything. He hated seeing Jean like this. 

“I don’t now what’s ‘happy’,” he started, catching Jeans attention and making him look up. “But since you’ve started coming here, I’ve not felt as… empty as before. It’s like… like I’ve started living.”

Jean seemed speechless for a while. 

“I… I thought you said that you didn’t feel dead.”

“I don’t. But you said my personality was, didn’t you? Now I think it’s not as much.”

From Jean’s expression, Marco assumed he understood what he was trying to say, but he still wasn’t sure if his words had actually helped make Jean feel better about whatever was upsetting him. Jean was quiet for some time, clearly thinking over what Marco had said. Marco stayed quiet, giving Jean the time h needed to calm himself down. Finally, Jean gave a breathy chuckle, his lips turning up at the corners as he turned to Marco, running his hands through his hair. 

“How do you always now just what to say?”

“I didn’t know I did.”

Jean nodded, and after a moment, lifted a hand to rest if against Marco’s cheek. The touch was warm, inviting, and the way Jean looked at him made Marco get lost in his eyes. An atmosphere hung around them, one Marco hadn’t felt before, but it didn’t make him nervous or on edge… if anything, he felt eased… enticed by it…

“When I first met you, I promised myself that I’d do everything to make you happy… I should start doing well on that promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I should hurry up and do the thing that has always worked.”

And with that, Jean leant forwards and pressed his lips against Marco’s


	4. Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's strange how quickly things crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short chapter! It took me forever to decide where to split the chapters, but this was the only place that made sense, hence how short it is! The next few make up for it I promise! ^^
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you like :3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [freckledbodty](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com)!

Jean’s lips felt like an electric shot; the kiss set his nerves buzzing from his cheeks to the tips of the fingers that automatically reached out to lightly grab hold of Jean’s sleeve. It was strange, new, and at the same time so familiar and right that Marco’s brain felt like it was melting from over-thinking it. The hand on his cheek slipped back, fingers tickling the edge of his hairline, and Jean pulled back just enough to sigh against Marco’s skin. It was odd, Marco wasn’t sure what to make of it all: he certainly didn’t understand why Jean thought this would make him feel happiness for the first time, but even as the thought that, his body felt warm, his heart light and at ease. Was this happiness? If it was, what about a kiss brought it on? 

A thumb traced over his lips, making Marco look back up at Jean who was giving him a cautious smile. Even Marco could tell Jean was examining him, looking for a reaction he could catch. “You need to tell me what you’re thinking… I can’t read you anymore.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Marco said. “My mind feels fuzzy.”

Jean nodded slowly, before lowering his hand and pulling back slightly. He turned his gaze to the stream across from them, expression soft and tired. “Fuzzy is okay. Fuzzy is at least something…” 

They sat in silence once more, and Marco found himself lifting his fingers to skim over him lips, still feeling the heat left their from where Jean had kissed him. It was an odd sensation, but he didn’t dislike it. The familiarity of it all was still nagging at his mind, despite knowing for certain he’d never kissed Jean before.

The sky was growing much darker now, and Marco was sure if Jean waited any longer he’d be trying to find his way out of the woods in the dark. Jean was apparently having the same thoughts, and he pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “I should go. Back to normal visits tomorrow, so you won’t have to spend the day alone.” 

“Ah…” With all that had happened, Marco had completely forgotten to mention his extra visitor earlier. “There was someone here. In the morning. A boy.”

The soft smile on Jean’s face dropped. Marco could almost imagine it shattering to the floor. 

“What?”

“This morning I woke up and someone came to the shrine. They just looked around for a bit and left again.”

“Did you know them?”

“I don’t know anyone but you. It was a boy, young. Dark hair, pale, freckles.”

“Shit…” Jean looked over Marco’s head at the shrine behind him, a fearful expression on his face that grew worse with every passing second, as if the more he thought about it, the more terrified he became. “If Luca’s coming back here… Shit, I need to go.”

Marco jumped to his feet just as Jean turned to start hurrying back up the path. “Jean? There’s something else.”

Jean paused, turning back to Marco in concern. Marco found himself hugging his arms to himself, almost nervous to bring up the other point about the stranger’s visit. “He… He couldn’t see me. I was right in front of him, and he couldn’t see me.”

Jean didn’t look surprised. He bit his lip, casting his gaze downwards and giving a small nod. “Don’t worry, Marco. Just… It’s not something you need to think about. Okay?”

“But why? Why couldn’t he see me? Jean, I don’t understand. You can, so why couldn’t he?”

“Some people just don’t want to see…” Jean murmured. “Really Marco, just forget about him… He’s not important.” 

“But–”

“Just leave it!” 

The sudden anger in Jean’s voice made Marco freeze. Jean stood still, his back to him, and Marco felt a strange uneasy cold taking over his body. He didn’t understand what this sudden turn in Jean meant, and he certainly didn’t know what he had done to cause it. His mind couldn’t find a word to explain it, but after the height of feeling Jean’s lips on his a few moments ago, now he felt as if he’d just been shoved out of the clouds. 

“You’re angry…” he said, for that was all he could think to say. 

Jean turned, running his hands through his hair, and groaned. “Yes, Marco, I’m angry. Congratu-fucking-lations for noticing.”

Marco almost flinched at the sharpness of it all. His feet stayed glued to the spot: he had no idea if moving over to Jean would make things worse or not. All he knew was that he really, really, didn’t want Jean to go, especially not like this. “What did I do?”

Somehow, that seemed to make Jean madder. 

“Fuck!” Jean’s fist slammed into the bark of a tree. He wouldn’t meet Marco’s gaze. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything, Marco.”

There was a moment of silence as they each took that in. Eventually, lost for any other explanation, Marco spoke again. 

“Is that the problem?”

That seemed to successfully throw Jean. He even looked at him properly. “What…?”

“Is that why you’re angry? Because I didn’t do anything when that boy was here? Was there something I should have done?”

It took a moment for Marco’s words to sink in, but once they did, Jean shook his head furiously, walking back towards him. “No… no, Marco, I’m… I’m not angry at you. Okay?”

“Are you lying?”

“No, it’s true,” Jean reached up, cupping Marco’s cheeks and tenderly stroking his thumb against the skin. Their gazes stayed locked, Marco’s uncertain, and Jean’s pained. “I’m just being angry around you. I’m angry at myself. I’m angry at the world. But the one thing I could never be angry at is you.”

He smiled, but even Marco could tell it was forced. He leant forward, pressing a light kiss against Marco’s forehead, lips lingering for a while longer than seemed necessary. When he pulled back, Jean gave a small sigh and immediately dropped his gaze. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow… yeah?”

Marco nodded, feeling even colder now Jean’s hands were gone. He only grew colder as he watched Jean leave down the path. Marco stood there for some time before he headed back inside the shrine, curling up on the old, wooden floor to sleep. 

It was the first time he’d felt cold throughout the night.


	5. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco quickly realises that being alone is the worst feeling in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -awkward wave-
> 
> Super ill + super busy at work = late late updates, even though this had already been written... 
> 
> But here you go! There is 2 chapters left of this fic that I'll be posting sometime in the next 2 weeks, and then I can finally move on to the others ^^   
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Jean didn’t come the next day.

Or the next.

Or even the next.

Marco sat on the shrine steps from the moment the dawn chorus woke him, to the well after the sun had vanished behind the trees. His chest felt heavy, and each day felt longer than the one before. He couldn’t understand it; after all that had happened, why would Jean just leave him like this? After the third day, worry started to set in: maybe something had happened… maybe Jean was hurt or worse. When there was still no sign of him on the forth day – the day it rained nonstop – Marco was sure something must have happened to him. He sat in the doorway of the shrine, not caring about the rainwater that was leaking into the old building, hugging his knees to his chest. Just… waiting.

He refused to believe he was waiting for nothing. 

On the forth night, Marco jolted awake. 

A sudden breeze brushed across his cheeks. His eyes searched around him, wondering if it had just been a particularly strong draft, or his imagination. His thoughts were halted as a quiet ruffling sounded above him. Peering up, he could just about make out the beady eyes that reflected the moon light, and the big black body as it shook – the cause of ruffling sound apparently.

Oddly, Marco knew it was a raven, even though he could barely make it out at all, he just felt it in the depths of his stomach. Thinking about it, Marco didn’t think he’d ever seen a raven around the shrine before – plenty of other birds, sure, but never a raven. In fact, Marco was certain this was the first animal ever to step inside the shrine itself – he’d never even seen a spider in here. 

“Hiding from the rain?” Marco asked the bird as it continued to alternate between ruffling its feathers and staring at him. “It’s not much drier in here, I’m afraid.” 

The bird eventually decided to ignore Marco, and spent the rest of the night cleaning itself in the rafters. Marco, meanwhile, couldn’t get back to sleep after that.

Once the sun rose, Marco could make out the shrine’s new addition properly. The raven was huge. Marco had to wonder if it was really normal for this bird type to be bigger than his own forearm. Its feathers were a perfect black, currently dry and clean and motionless as the raven apparently watched Marco again. After a few more hours of being stared at, Marco pushed himself up and headed outside to wait for yet another day.

It was as he pushed the shrine door open and the light bounced against his skin that he realised. 

His lifted his hand, turning it this way and hat as he examined it, eyebrows drawing together in thought. He looked pale… much paler than he’d ever looked before. 

Behind him, a sharp squawk came from the raven, drawing Marco’s gaze back to the bird. He was sure the stare was growing more intense from it… Shaking his head, he put all this to the back of his mind and sat down to wait for Jean.

It took another day of hoping and being disappointed, and another night of trying to sleep under the rather unnerving raven, before Marco finally realised that it his skin wasn’t paling. 

He managed to sleep until late, waking only when the sun was at the height of noon, his body feeling strangely weak and sluggish as he stood and walked to the door. He ignored the raven’s piercing glare. As soon as he opened the door and the light brushed his skin, he froze. 

“No…”

This time, when he lifted his hand, he didn’t need to examine it to see something was wrong. He felt an emotion gripping his throat, choking him. He didn’t need to think to know what it was: fear. It was a wave of panic and fear trying to smother him. 

He could see the clearing through his hand. 

It wasn’t a clear picture, just a bur of distorted shapes and colours – but it was undoubtedly the image of the wood behind his hand. 

He couldn’t breathe. Then he couldn’t stay standing. He tried to gasp in air but simply choked, stumbling backwards in as he patted all over his translucent body, as if that would return colour to him. His back slammed into the back wall of the shrine. The raven screeched, flapping its wings, and whilst Marco was sure it was just from the shake of the building, he could have sworn it sounded like laughter. 

He didn’t understand. He was real, right? He’d existed all this time, so why did he feel like he was suddenly disappearing? Because Jean had stopped coming? Did he only exist if there was someone to exist for? Or… had Jean stopped coming because he somehow knew Marco would soon vanish?

Then he heard voices.

Marco’s head snapped up as he heard deep voices suddenly coming into earshot. Multiple ones, more than Marco could count, but none that sounded like Jean’s. Marco didn’t realise he was shaking as he once again walked forward to linger in the shrine doorway. 

The first person to step into the clearing was someone Marco did know, but not the one he’d wanted to see: the boy from the other day. He looked just as sad as before, looking up at the shrine in disdain, and once again looking straight through Marco – though, at least now that didn’t surprise him. The group of people that followed all wore hard hats, bright orange jackets over their clothes. Some carried heavy-looking tools. They too showed no sign of acknowledgement of Marco’s presence. 

“This all?” a man asked, stepping forward to stand beside the boy. 

The boy nodded solemnly, waving his hand towards the shrine. “Be careful if you go inside. The floor’s partially collapsed, and I’m sure the rest is rotten enough to follow suit.”

Marco blinked, looking down at the floor he stood on: it was old and creaky, sure, but there was no rot or holes that he could see. 

Suddenly it felt like the floor vanished from under him. His stomach lurched in panic and he swayed, quickly grabbing hold of the doorframe to stop himself from falling. He squeezed his eyes together as an image he didn’t recognise flashed through his mind. 

_“The shrine’s perfectly safe, Lucas. Besides… it’s an important place for me and him.”_

“Okay guys, lets get to it.”

The voice made Marco jump. He realised the board of people were coming closer to the shrine. He wasn’t sure why it scared him so much, but he backed up, dropping to the floor in the hope they would leave. He heard their movements, and then heard the first awful thump and the shrine shook.

A gut-wrenching pain shot through him in the same instance, making him curl up on himself, shaking through the ache. The raven screeched pitifully, and swooped down, screaming and clawing at the walls before it vanished through the open doorway. He heard the men yelping in surprise, a sudden commotion, before the raven’s cries started to fade into the distance. 

The thumping bagan again, this time alone with a strange deep tearing sound that hurt even more. Marco panted, clutching his chest, pressing his hands over his ears or his palms into his eyes, anything to try to ease the pain. He could only pray they’d stop.

“Lucas! What the fuck are you doing?”

That voice…

“Jean…” he whispered, lifting his head slowly. 

“Jean, go home. This isn’t any of your business any more,” the boy’s voice snapped. The other noises stopped, like Jean’s words had made everything pause. 

“You can’t do this!” Jean yelled, sounding like he was coming closer. 

“I’ve got permission. It’s been agreed that this place is unsafe to be left standing.”

“But this is _his_ place. If you tear it down, he’ll–”

“He’ll what, Jean? Die? My memory isn’t too weak that I need this place standing to remember my brother.”

Marco felt cold. So cold.

_“Jean, cut it out! I need to go back, or my brother will…”_

_“Lucas can go eat a dick. Stay… please…”_

“Lucas, please… this is all I have left of him.” Marco had never heard Jean sound so pained… so hopeless.

“Let go of me! Who told you to stop working, we’re not paying you to stand around!”

“Lucas, no!”

The moment the thumps resumed, Marco’s whole body flinched with the returning pain, a choked cry escaping him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to see Jean. 

“Jean, this is for your own good too. It’s been five years and you’re still crying over a lump of rotting wood. Please, we both need to do this. It’s like his haunting you!”

“Then let him haunt me!”

Marco forced himself to get back to the door. He saw Jean in the clearing, tears rolling down his cheeks, his fists gripping the boy’s shirt. The thumping was coming from the men’s tools slowly pulling apart the shrine’s foundations.

As if sensing his gaze, Jean’s head snapped round, eyes widening as he saw Marco there. Jean’s chest was heaving, rising and falling as he panted and sobbed. Then, he turned, sprinting back down the path. 

“Jean-!” Marco yelled. Just before he ran down the steps after him, a heard a sickening crunch behind him. He turned, looking over his shoulder, and felt a jolt of terror. 

The floor was caved in. A ditch of overgrown foliage sat under it, covered the broken pieces of wood… as if it had been that way for years. Unable to stomach the sight anymore, he turned and ran after Jean, refusing to let himself look at the men pulling his shrine apart. 

He raced down the path he’d never walked before, and yet someone knew where it led. As he came to a fork, he stopped, panting and searching for just a glimpse of Jean. He was starting to think it was too late when he heard a crunch of leaves and a small squawk. 

The raven sat on a low tree branch, staring at him, before flapping its wings and disappearing into the woods. Marco didn’t even think before he stepped off the path and followed the bird through the trees. As he ran, eyes trained on the speck of black flying ahead, he didn’t even realise that he didn’t need to push branches out of his way or step around large rocks. The wood wasn’t disturbed in the slightest as he ran. 

And then he stopped. 

The raven sat high in a tree, staring hard at him, as if waiting for something. Sitting against the tree, head in his hands, was…

“Jean?”

Jean looked up, his eyes filling with even more tears as soon as he saw Marco. “I’m… I’m so sorry… I tried to talk them out of it. This whole week I tried but they… they wouldn’t listen.”

Marco stepped closer, crouching down opposite Jean, holding his hand out. It was now barely visible, just a vague ghostly outline against the ground. Jean looked at it for a moment, before muttering a curse and reaching out to brush his hand against it. Their fingers wrapped around each others.

At least Jean could still touch him.

“You’re fading…”

“I thought it was because you’d forgotten me.”

Jean’s eyes turned sharp, serious. “Never. I’ll never forget you, Marco.”

“Then why…”

“It’s the shrine. Because they decided to tear down the shrine.”

Marco couldn’t work out what to say, but he didn’t think there was anything to say. Jean tugged on his hand lightly, and Marco found himself being coaxed into Jean’s arms. They sat, legs tangled together, arms tight around each other, in a comfortable silence for some time. Marco pressed his face into Jean’s shoulder, so relieved he could still feel his warmth. If there was one thing Marco could feel forever, it would be Jean. 

Something, perhaps his gut, made Marco glance upwards. Sure enough, the raven still sat above them, watching with intense eyes. For whatever reason, he was starting to sense those eyes were familiar. 

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I dead?”

He felt Jean’s body tense around him, and Marco gave a weak smile. He supposed that was his answer. 

“You’re real,” Jean whispered, almost desperately. “You’re really here, touching me, in my arms… you’re as real as I am.”

“But I am dead.”

He heard a small intake of breath, and Jean squeezed him tighter. “Yes.”

The raven tipped its head back, giving that laughter-like crying once more, and the next time it looked back down and met Marco’s eyes, it was like a stabbing pain. 

His body shook, tears started seeping down his cheeks, and he pulled back to meet Jean’s terrified gaze. 

“Marco…?”

Lifting his hands, Marco cupped Jean’s cheeks, caressing his skin with his fingers. 

He smiled.

“I remember.”


	6. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco ended up right back to the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~pretends this isn't suuuper late because of work and typing things up takes forever when you use shorthand~~
> 
> Looky! It's the plot!
> 
> The final chapter is written and ready to be posted - probably be up sometime later today or tomorrow (depending on how long I get distracted by pizza and friends, and time zones). 
> 
> But AGH I'm almost done!

He etched his name into the planks at the back of the shrine: Marco.

He was 16 years old, alone in the new town he hadn’t wanted to move to, and had stumbled across the place whilst wandering around on his own. He’d just hoped the woods might offer him some solitude from the overwhelming _newness_ of it all, but he felt like he’d struck gold when he found the unused, rotting shrine. A place that could be his. 

It wasn’t just his, of course. As well as the wildlife and nature that crept into the shrine, Marco had discovered at least four others had made this place their own, as their names were already carved into the wooden planks at the back. One of the names had a crack straight through it, hiding the full name, but it seemed to begin with F. The others seemed a little newer, but neither new enough that Marco felt the need to worry about encroaching on their territory, so to speak: Isabel, and Jean.

After that, he came back to the shrine as much as he could; just spent his days lying in the sun, reading, letting the hours slip by. His parents had organised the move at an awkward time – a mere month before the end of the school term. So, Marco and his little brother had been kept off, told they’d have an extra long holiday before starting school in the new year. It meant he had a lot of time on his hands, time that he couldn’t even spend making friends, since they were all still in school. 

And so the months passed, and Marco kept frequenting his favourite shrine, even once summer started and the other kids were out one more. 

It was a week before term was due to start, the winds already carrying a hint of autumn chill. Marco sat on the shrine steps, leaning against the banister, just closing the latest book he’d finished – two days, this one had taken him. He’d heard movements in the woods, but assumed it was simply the wildlife and ignored it. It was only when he heard a small “Oh…” that he looked up to see an unfamiliar face. 

Marco’s breath caught as he met the boy’s gaze: this guy was attractive. Like, just-confirmed-that-I’m-definitely-gay attractive. Realising he was staring, Marco quickly dropped his gaze, opening the book to a random page just for something to look at other than the new arrival. He really hoped he wasn’t blushing. 

From what he could see out the corner of his eye, the guy walked over to a tree beside the little brook that ran across the clearing in front of the shrine. He slumped down against the bark, and eventually started tapping away on a game on his phone. He seemed engrossed, and Marco sat there for some time, just watching and wondering who he was and if he came here for the same reason as Marco did. 

Some time later, the boy paused his game and tried to subtly glance over his shoulder. Marco probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already been staring, but he was, and so their eyes met briefly. Marco immediately pulled the book right up to his nose, mortified he’d been caught _again._

He started to wonder if he should just go, or if the other guy would decide to leave and avoid the creepy person staring at him. It seemed like he didn’t need to worry about making that decision though…

He had to worry about what to do now that the cute guy was on his feet and walking towards him. 

A million curses flew through Marco’s mind at the speed of light in the few seconds it took the boy to walk over, keeping his gaze locked on the page of his book until the last possible second. Once the guy was standing right in front of him though, he knew he had to look up, even though his racing his heart was surely making his cheeks redden. 

The two of them seemed to take each other in for a moment now they were this close, which only unnerved Marco further (as well as confirm that, yes, this guy was _really_ cute).

“Hello.”

Marco could only stare for a moment, the slightest rough voice echoing around his head over and over. After a while, the boy shifted and cleared his throat. “Um… this is where you say something back.”

Feeling his face burning hotter, Marco cursed himself for the belated response. “H-Hi!” he stammered out. He voice was so high and breathless… he just wanted to go put himself a hole.

It seemed his nerves hadn’t gone unnoticed by the boy, as a smile spread onto his face, and a breathy chuckle left him. He shove his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight a little. “I’m not that intimidating, am I?”

“No! Not at all!” Marco quickly said, not wanting to offend him. “I… just didn’t expect to see anyone else around here. You’re the first I’ve seen in nearly two months…” Well, he couldn’t really say ‘sorry, you’re so hot I forgot to function’. 

The guy hummed rocking back on his heels. “Well, this place used to be my getaway, though I’ve not really used it in a few years,” He paused, smirk growing more pronounced. “Though I’m glad I decided to return. I might make this my regular place again… fight you for control.”

Marco couldn’t help but grin at the comment, closing his book as he looked up at the boy. “Well, I’m sorry to say I’ve already lain my claim. I’m not that willing to give it up just yet.”

“Oh? Well unless you’ve managed to fly under my radar for ten years, I think you’ll find I made the claim first.”

“Did you record proof of this claim?”

“You bet. Just peer round there and you’ll see my name.”

Marco shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “Nice try, I’ve already looked and there are only girls names there. Plus my name, of course.”

The boy’s smile fell and he looked at Marco with a stern frown. Marco suddenly worried he’d ruined the moment between them somehow. 

“It’s pronounced _Jean_ , thank you.”

In seconds, Marco’s cheeks were burning red with embarrassment, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to hide the nervous smile. “Crap… Sorry, I just-!”

Jean smirked, waving Marco’s words away. “I’m just messing with you. Not about the name thing, that’s true, but you’re not the first to make the mistake, and you certainly won’t be the last,” He laughed, drawing a chuckle from Marco too, and then sat down on the bottom step, leaning against the banister and looking up at Marco. His gaze was softer than before, and Marco could have sworn these eyes were examining him. “So, do I have to go search for this name you so rudely carved into my shrine, or are you just going to tell me it?”

Blushing, Marco looked down at his book as if that would hide his heavy heartbeat. “Marco.”

“Marco…” Jean said it slowly, like he was savouring it on his tongue. “Good name.”

* * *

That was how it started. Just two teenagers who happened to wander into the same safe spot. Oddly, Marco didn’t mind that he had to share his place of solitude. If anything, the little shrine and clearing grew even more comforting when Jean was there. As it turned out, Jean was in the year above, and though they didn’t run in the same circles at school, whenever they passed one another in the halls they exchanged a knowing smile, expecting to see the other in the clearing that night. 

Within just a single month, that place had become theirs. Laughs and chatter turned to whispered secrets and hidden thoughts only the shrine could listen in on, and soon those turned to sly touches or brushes of hands purposefully left too close together. It was slow, steady, and the first time their fingers tangled together it felt so natural, neither of them even noticed until they had to part.

By the end of October, it g colder, but the boys met there still: Marco brought blankets, Jean a lamp, and they curled up inside the shrine, bodies close and hands always together as they spoke in low, soft voices. Neither of them brought up their intimate moments, not until the night before Halloween. Unsurprisingly, Jean used the cheesiest line possible. 

“You’re going to Eren’s party?” Marco had asked, surprised since Jean spent a great deal of their time together complaining about his classmate. 

Jean nodded. “Well, all my actual friends will be there. You should come too.”

“Armin already invited me. I haven’t got a costume though...” Marco said with a small smile.

“Well we should wear matching costumes. The one I’m planning on needs a partner.”

“Oh? What’s your costume?”

“Marco’s boyfriend.”

Marco had felt his cheeks burn as he stared at Jean, though the other boy refused to met his gaze. Biting his lip to contain his grin, Marco had squeezed Jean’s hand. “So I’d be Jean’s boyfriend? Can’t say I disapprove.”

By the end of the Halloween party, there wasn’t a kid in school who didn’t know Marco and Jean were dating. 

As the first snow fell in mid-November, the time they spent at the shrine grew longer, despite the cold. They huddled together in the shrine, sharing heated kisses and electric touches to warm themselves. 

“I had another lecture off Lucas,” Marco grumbled as he watched Jean play on his PSP.

“Your brother’s an ass,” Jean muttered. 

“He’s 14.”

“Still an ass. What was his lecture on this time?”

“He says the shrine’s not safe. That the snow and damp is making the wood rot more."

“The most dangerous thing to you in here is me, and Lucas damn well knows it.”

“How are you a danger to me? You were crying to me just last weekend over the phone because you were lonely.” Marco sniggered and rested his head on Jean’s shoulder.

Jean didn’t even look up, focused on his game. “One, I was drunk and hadn’t seen you in two days, so it doesn’t count. And two...:” Without warning, he paused his game and tossed it to the bottom of the blanket, wrapping his arms around Marco and nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s neck, playfully biting the skin. “He knows I will jump and violate his innocent big brother every chance I get.”

Lost in their own world of shared giggles and kisses, neither Jean nor Marco noticed the gradual increase in creeks in the floorboards, or the way the shrine floor would sink slightly under their weight. 

Days turned to weeks, and those turned into months, and before they knew it, it was February. Over five months since they met, and Marco and Jean had shared so many moments in that little shrine, so many of their firsts too. The day before that day was almost perfect. Another Saturday the two had woken up holding each other - in Jean’s bed, as always, due to the constant cockblocking at Marco’s house, courtesy of Lucas. They made breakfast, which ultimately turned into a flour fight and a joint shower. They lazed under blankets in front of the TV, eating snacks and exchanging pointless conversation. And after lunch, they headed to their lace. The snow was melting, turning to slush under foot, sticking to their boots as they stepped into the shrine. They only managed to spend a few short hours there before Marco’s phone rang and he was called back for dinner.

“Jean!” Marco giggled, trying to fight his way out of his boyfriend’s hold. “Come on, I’ll be late!”

“No! Don’t leave me,” Jean complained, holding onto Marco tighter and burying his face in his neck. 

“I have to go, you monopoliser!”

Jean grunted, slacking his hold only to catch Marco’s lips in a slow, tender kiss that lasted much longer than it should have. By the time they pulled apart, Marco was warm and his body buzzed from the contact. Jean smiled at the effect he’d caused. “Tomorrow?”

With a sigh, Marco smiled and nodded, leaving one last kiss on Jean’s cheek and the jogging down the steps and along the path. The last lingering touch of fingers unknowingly burning itself into Jean’s memory. 

The Sunday morning was deceptively beautiful. The sun shone down, reflecting off the morning frost - the frost which would turn out to be the last frost of that winter. It was a little chilly, sure, but with no wind the sun warmed you up quickly if you stayed out of the shade. Marco wrapped a scarf around his neck - a christmas present from Jean - ruffled his brother’s hair as he stole a slice of toast on his way out, and wandered down to the woods. In minutes, he was on the path. He and Jean hadn’t specified a meeting time, but Marco was sure he’d turn up as early as possible too. 

The shrine seemed to glimmer with frost, and Marco smiled to himself over how pretty and peaceful it looked. He hummed as he climbed over the steps, fingers briefly ghosting over the sparkling banister. 

One step through the door, and Marco rubbed his hands together to counter the cold, already craving Jean’s warmth. 

Two steps through the door, and Marco looked up, hearing a sudden harsh cry over head: a huge black raven sat in the rafters, watching him with bright eyes. 

And on the third step came the crunch. 

As Marco’s foot went plummeting through the rotten wood, he fell backwards, hands reaching out for something to grab hold of, but there was nothing but air and the raven watching him over head. 

His body slammed against the shrine’s floor, and the rest of the old floorboards gave way, and Marco kept falling through the corroded foundations to the rocky, jagged earth beneath. 

“Je-!”

Pain shot through him, and vanished just as quickly as it appeared. As everything started to fade to black, the last thing he heard was a raven’s cry that sounded very close to laughter.


	7. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every beginning has an end.

The smile stayed on Marco’s face even as he remembered the pain that had rocked through his body that day he fell. Jean had stopped sobbing, but the tears still seeped down his face, silent. The raven remained on the tree branch above, motionless as it watched. 

“Why am I back, Jean?” Marco asked softly, reaching out to wipe the tears off his lover’s cheeks. He looked so pained, so guilty that Marco was furious at himself to dying and causing this. 

“I just… I couldn’t let you go…” Jean whispered, clinging to Marco’s hand and kissing his palm. “It was my fault… If I had just gotten there sooner… or if I didn’t ask to meet… or if I’d just listened to Lucas and noticed the floor was rotten-!”

“Or if the sun didn’t rise and the world didn’t turn,” Marco cut him off, smiling sadly. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t change what happened any more than I can, Jean.”

“But I could!” Jean’s eyes flew wide with desperation. He reached out, grabbing Marco’s cheeks and caressing his skin with his fingers. “Look… you’re back. I got more time with you. Every year, I get to live those moments with you again. That’s what the shrine’s god gave me. He let you come back every year these past five winters.”

Five years? Had it really been five whole years since he’d died? Marco almost couldn’t understand what he was hearing, but a squawk from above him, one that Jean apparently didn’t hear, made Marco look up. The raven stared back at him knowingly, and it suddenly all made sense. 

“Jean…”

“No, don’t try and tell me it’s wrong. I know that’s what you’re going to say,” Jean shook his head frantically. “You lose your memories every year… and you’ve been losing your colour and emotion too… but it’s still you! And I think you love this time together as much as me.” Jean’s voice was so high, so weak, that Marco could tell the only person he was trying ton convince was himself. 

“Jean…”

“Stop it!” The tears fell faster from Jean’s eyes. He flung himself forward, burying himself in Marco’s chest. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to that tone? Like a mother trying to ease horrible news onto their kid? You're the last person I want to hear that tone from!” Jean shook as Marco wrapped his arms around him. 

“Jean… My name. The name I carved into the back of the shrine… That’s how I’m here. It’s not really me. I’m not really me. I’m just a memory and we’re repeating it over and over. You said it yourself: the shrine is being torn down. I won’t have anything binding me to this world soon. There’ll be nothing to bring me back.”

“I’m here…”

Marco smile, his own heart tightening with regret. Now he wondered how he’d ever forgotten this feeling. This overwhelming love for Jean. 

“No, Jean, you’re not binding me to this world. I’m binding you to death.”

Jean gave a sound like he was trying to deny it, but Marco could see in his eyes that he knew it was true. All these years… he must have been refusing to accept the living people still around him, instead clinging to this memory hovering between life and death. Clinging to Marco. 

“I can’t be selfish and keep you forever,” Marco whispered. His own tears now slipping now his cheeks. “It’s time for you to get back to the world of the living.”

“Marco… please… you can’t leave me! Not again!”

In the distance came a violent crunch, and a sharp pain shot through Marco’s chest. The raven above him screeched, and Marco saw his hand on Jean’s cheek was no longer visible.

“I love you, Jean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Finished. I can't believe it. 
> 
> I feel like this ended very rushed, but it was the only way I could think to end it, so I'd really appreciate any feedback on whether it worked or if it was too rushed :S
> 
> Anyways, thanks to everyone who has read this! It's been a long... long... long ride and I'm happy it ended the way I imagined it would.   
> Thanks again folks!  
> You can find me on tumblr at [freckledbodty](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com)!


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